


Race

by nerdypipsqueak



Series: Fictober 2019 [15]
Category: The Mint - T. E. Lawrence
Genre: Fictober 2019, Gen, Motorcycles, Shenanigans, T. E. Lawrence under an assumed name, T. E. Shaw, races
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-17 05:23:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21049010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdypipsqueak/pseuds/nerdypipsqueak
Summary: Fictober prompt: “That’s what I’m talking about!”Lawrence races a plane.





	Race

"He's doing it!" Nobby screams as he runs into the hut. "He's doing it! The little fucker's doing it!"

"Who?! What?!" Palmer sits up on his bed. He'd been meaning to have a nap but Nobby's screechy voice can raise the dead and he's wide awake now.

"Shaw! He's going to race that bastard Warburton!"

The airmen scramble to get out of the hut. Depot life can be extremely boring, distraction is always welcome, no matter how stupid or dangerous.

Shaw owns a motorcycle, a Brough Superior. Palmer's read about those motorcycles in the paper, apparently they're the best you can get. They're also bloody expensive, which prompts some questions, the first and foremost being: how the hell can Shaw afford to buy a Brough Superior on an airman's wage?

The motorcycle's parked on the runway next to one of the trainer planes. It is a beautiful piece of machinery, the Brough Superior, and Palmer feels a sudden sting of jealousy. How he wishes he had one of his own. He could have his pick of the girls...

Shaw's already seated astride of the motorcycle, cleaning his goggles, waiting patiently for Warburton to stop faffing about. The kid seems to be stalling, as if he's just realised that he's screwed.

Nobody likes Warburton. He treats the airmen like they're the scum of the earth, thinks himself better, smarter because his daddy's rich and could afford to send him to Eton and Cambridge. Warburton thinks he knows everything. A while ago he'd gotten himself into a rather heated discussion with Shaw about motorcycles and whether or not they could outrun a taxiing plane. A discussion which had ended with thinly veiled insults (and Shaw - damn him - has this way of insulting you that sounds perfectly normal and polite but somehow hits you right where it hurts the most) and the proposition of a race. 

"Ready?" Warburton hoists himself into the cockpit of the plane. "Or do you want to back out before you embarrass yourself?"

"Ready." Shaw put his goggles on. "Can someone please give us a countdown?"

Jock takes it upon himself to provide the countdown and... they're off. The motorcycle starts slowly and the plane overtakes it with hardly any effort.

"What the fuck is he doing? Why doesn't he fucking accelerate?!" Nobby cranes his neck for a better view. "I bet my full wage on him."

"He's warming th' engine up, ya wee fool." Jock smacks him on the back of the head, sending his cap flying. 

"Come on, Shaw!" Palmer screams. "Show the posh bastard who's boss!"

He's perfectly aware that Shaw himself is a "posh bastard". He's got the accent, the education, the manners. But he wears the same uniform, eats the same food and uses the same doorless toilets as everyone else without a word of complaint. Palmer has nothing but respect for him.

At last, Shaw accelerates and starts catching up with the plane.

"YES!" Palmer punches the air with both fists. "That's what I'm talking about!"

They're neck and neck now, the plane and the motorcycle, both maintaining a steady speed.

"Accelerate, ye bastard!" Jock bellows at the top of his lungs. As if on cue Shaw accelerates and... Palmer can't believe his eyes! Shaw's overtaken the plane. 

The small crowd explodes with screams of delight.

"That's what I'm talking about!" Palmer yells again. "That's what I'm talking about!"

In the distance Shaw raises a single triumphant fist.


End file.
